The Third to Die

by Allison Brennan

  He did. He wanted Kara right now. She was an LA cop and he was a virtual nomad, but he wanted her.

  Maybe that’s why he was so attracted. Whatever they did, whatever they had, would by necessity be brief.

  She unbuttoned her flannel shirt. Flannel had never looked sexy to him before tonight. Underneath was a thin black tank top. She started to take it off, too, but he grabbed her wrist and pulled her to him.

  Then he saw the scars.

  The first was on her upper right shoulder, a bullet wound. He knew because he had one of his own, on his left calf. He’d only been shot once. It hadn’t been serious, but it had hurt like hell.

  He kissed her, then tilted her head and kissed her scar.

  Then he saw the second.

  It was on her left shoulder, in the back, and it wasn’t a gunshot. It was a long, narrow white scar, older than the gunshot. A knife wound, and it had been serious.

  “Stop thinking,” she said.

  “You were shot. And stabbed.”

  “More than once, but I’m alive, and I can prove it.”

  She pushed him back on the bed and took off her tank top. She had another knife wound on her left breast, a long, narrow scar. A gunshot on her left side.

  “Kara—”

  “I’ll turn off the lights if you say one more word, Costa.”

  She reached for the lamp, but he took her hand and kissed it, then licked from her palm to her fingers. She closed her eyes and sighed.

  “Don’t you dare turn off the lights. I want to watch you.” He reached for the back of her neck and pulled her down on him, holding her tight as he kissed her.

  Matt had every intention of finding out how she got so many scars. While he didn’t know Kara Quinn well, he knew her well enough that if he pressed now she would leave or... Or what?

  He had never met a woman who was both completely mysterious and extremely open at the same time. He didn’t think it was possible.

  And yet here she was.

  “You’re still thinking,” she whispered into his ear, then nipped his lobe to the point of pain. Her tongue shot out, her hands reached under his waistband, and as soon as she touched him, he was done thinking about anything for the rest of the night, except making sure that Kara Quinn had just as much fun as he did.

  23

  Saturday, March 6

  Liberty Lake

  12:05 a.m.

  Grace hadn’t wanted Andy to leave that night. Kara’s joke about the killer preferring knives didn’t go over well at all and Grace was worried.

  But out of all the teachers and administrators that Abigail and her people had called, there were only three they couldn’t reach. One they confirmed from the school district was out of town for the week; the second was a principal who worked at Central Valley High School—where both Andy and Kara had graduated—but lived at the lake. The last, an English teacher who worked at the elementary school, but had a home just outside the town limits. Andy would go to her house next.

  Andy arrived at the lake house with two officers. He didn’t want to think that anything was wrong, that Jeffrey Ogdenburg was already dead—it was only five minutes after midnight. But the feds had him worried, and listening to the profiler earlier in the day had disturbed him on several levels.

  Andy loved being a cop, but he was a small town cop. Vandalism, theft, a few domestic violence situations that weren’t fun but at least predictable because Andy knew most everyone in town. Murder was way out of his comfort zone. This investigation had made him think long and hard about his future, and whether he was cut out for a law enforcement career.

  Except that Victoria Manners was the first murder victim in Liberty Lake in more than a decade, and he couldn’t expect to have another serial killer in his town in his lifetime.

  The cops—a rookie and an experienced cop—stood on the path watching while Andy knocked on the door of Ogdenburg’s cabin.

  At first, he didn’t hear anything, and he grew worried. He was about to tell the officers to check around back, when a light came on in the entry. “Coming, coming,” a voice inside said. “Who is it?”

  “Detective Andy Knolls from Liberty Lake PD.”

  “The police?”

  He heard a bolt slide and then the door opened. Andy realized then how easy it would be for a killer to pretend to be a cop and get anyone in this small town to open their door.

  Ogdenburg was in his late thirties and Andy had clearly woken him up. He showed his badge and said, “Mind if I come in?”

  “Is something wrong?”

  “You didn’t answer your phone.”

  “I get crappy reception up here. Is it my sister? My parents? Are they okay?”

  Now he was worried, as Andy would be if a cop came to his house late at night.

  “Everyone is fine. We’re reaching out to everyone in the educational field who lives in the area to notify you of a potential threat. My officers are going to walk around the property and check things out, if you don’t mind.”

  “Threat? Um, no, go ahead.” Ogdenburg rubbed his face. “Come in.”

  “Do you mind if I look around?”

  “Not at all, but what’s going on?”

  Andy asked him if he’d heard about the woman who was killed. He had, and Andy filled him in on the basics of the investigation. Nothing that hadn’t been said at the press conference, but reiterating that they believed that the killer would be targeting a teacher or administrator in Liberty Lake.

  “We’re recommending that you find another place to stay. Maybe with relatives, or out of town. After a day or two, it should be safe for you to return, but for the next twenty-four hours we have some concerns.”

  “Why me?”

  “We don’t know that you are a specific target, but the FBI believes that his next target is a teacher, someone who lives or works in Liberty Lake.” Andy didn’t get into the profile details, that some of the victims may be specifically chosen, while others might be surrogates for someone else. He didn’t know if he agreed with the psychological assessment, but again, that was way outside his comfort zone. Nothing about this case made sense to him.

  “But the nurse was from Spokane, wasn’t she?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you really don’t know.”

  “I wouldn’t be out here at midnight if I didn’t think that there is a threat to you, however small.”

  “I’m going to my sisters’ tomorrow morning. I’ll stay with her for the night. Okay?”

  “That’s good, but maybe you can go there tonight?”

  “I’m not going to wake her up in the middle of the night. I’ll check all my doors, keep them locked, not open them for anyone.”

  “Even if someone says they’re a cop.”

  Ogdenburg looked at him oddly. “Oh. I see your point.”

  “Are you certain there isn’t any place you can go tonight? I can escort you.”

  “I mean, if you really, really think so, I guess I could find a hotel or something.”

  It was clear he didn’t want to leave. Andy was torn. Should he insist? He had no real authority. And hadn’t the profiler said that if the killer couldn’t get to his specific target, that he may have a backup? Andy’s head ached.

  “It’s up to you, Mr. Ogdenburg. We are fully staffed tonight and we’ll patrol your street regularly, but I am happy to take you to your sister’s or a hotel, if you want.”

  “I promise, I’ll keep all the doors locked, and if anyone comes to the house, I’ll call 911, okay?”

  “Please do. Even if you think it’s nothing, better safe than sorry.”

  Andy finished checking his house, looking in every closet and large cabinet, checking the doors and windows, and ensuring that Ogdenburg was alone. The two officers came to the door. One said, “No sign of anyone. We checke
d all the cars parked on the street or visible in a driveway—there were six. All registered to local addresses.”

  “Did you take down the plates?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay.” Andy glanced at his watch. It was nearly twelve-thirty. Ogdenburg was safe for now, and he was aware of the threat. “Please be alert, Mr. Ogdenburg,” he said.

  “I will. Thank you for coming out. I really do appreciate the alert.”

  Andy left, told his officers they needed to check on one more person, and then they could all go home for the night.

  Everyone would be back working bright and early in the morning. The killer was still out there, and Andy didn’t know if these warnings would deter him. If not early in the morning, the killer still had the rest of the day—and night—to kill.

  Andy took a final look at Ogdenburg’s house and drove off.

  * * *

  Jeffrey Ogdenburg checked all his doors and windows again. Liberty Lake was a safe town, but he considered that if the police had come out at midnight to check on his well-being, they had cause to be concerned.

  He poured himself a glass of milk and pulled two cookies out of the jar—homemade chocolate chip, from his sister. She had never cooked when they were growing up, and still didn’t cook well—except for baking. Somehow having kids had jump-started her baking genes and she made amazing cookies, pies, cakes—he gained five pounds every time he went over for dinner because of dessert.

  Not that he was complaining—Jenny was happy, and that’s all he cared about.

  He watched a half hour of news on the twenty-four-hour cable channel and became drowsy. He hadn’t heard anything outside, not even the wind—though a storm was supposed to be coming to town early in the week.

  He turned off the television and went to his small den, pushing aside work he’d brought home for the weekend. He moved his mouse and his screen popped to life, then he googled information about a killer in Spokane. An article had been published late that afternoon, after the police had a press conference. Pretty much what the cop who’d come to his door had said. Some guy was randomly killing teachers.

  Why Liberty Lake?

  A former student?

  The police didn’t have any real information, and there were a lot of teachers in the Spokane Valley.

  Still, it made him uneasy. He knew many of the teachers in the area—he’d worked with them, socialized with them. And the reporter pointed out that the nurse who had been killed at the lake wasn’t even from here. She lived and worked in Spokane.

  Jeffrey was a nice guy, and he knew it. It’s probably why he was still single. He didn’t particularly like dating, and he was more of a homebody. His idea of the perfect woman was a teacher who loved working with kids, who liked coming home after work and watching television or sitting on the couch curled up with a book. Someone who liked long walks and an occasional hike or camping trip, but still preferred being home in front of a fire. Maybe have kids, maybe not. He’d considered getting a dog—he’d had one when he moved out of his parents’ house, but Rollie died two years back of old age.

  There were no updates to the news article.

  Jeffrey was beat; he didn’t really want to listen to the press briefing—the reporter had been clear about what was going on. It was now well after one in the morning, and he had a full day planned tomorrow.

  Today, he reminded himself, he’d be careful—he wasn’t an idiot. He’d hang out with his sister and family all day. Maybe even spend the night. In fact, if his sister had heard the news, she’d probably insist. That didn’t bother him. He liked her kids and her husband. They could make a game night out of it.

  He turned off all the lights except the small light above the kitchen stove, then went back to bed. He’d been reading in bed when the police came to his door—well, he’d fallen asleep reading in bed. He picked up his book, but his eyes were drooping, so he marked his page, turned off the lamp, and drifted off to sleep.

  24

  Liberty Lake

  After Midnight

  Rage burned beneath his skin. The killer wanted to tear that FBI agent apart limb by limb. Cut him into tiny pieces and throw them in the goddamn fucking lake!

  He’d almost been caught at Ogdenburg’s house. He’d been outside, waiting for the principal to turn out his light. It was safer that way, easier. In the dark, in the shadows.

  Then the Liberty Lake Police Department showed up and screwed with everything.

  He didn’t wait around to see what was going on; he walked the half mile down the trail to his car and left. Sped toward the second target...

  And she wasn’t home. Not only was she gone, but she had left quickly. She’d worked Friday morning—he’d made sure of that—and he’d confirmed that she had no plans, no reason to leave town. She’d gone because of that ridiculous press briefing and warning!

  Not ridiculous if she listened.

  He walked through her house, the rage slowly building. He knocked over her television. Kicked her couch. Pushed over her bookshelf. She wasn’t here!

  He left before he became reckless. Drove slowly to try and control his adrenaline. He couldn’t risk being pulled over, not tonight. Because when the police found the body—and they would find one, because he would succeed—they might remember him.

  Initially it wouldn’t be a problem—he wasn’t in the system. He hadn’t been drinking—he didn’t drink. He refused to be a drunk like his father. He had a local address—and a license to prove it—and he had a reason to be out, at least one that would stand up to any stupid cop who asked.

  He didn’t want to go to Plan C, which would mean waiting until tomorrow night. He didn’t want to wait. Besides, it would be too close, too close to the deadline. He’d never—not once!—had his plans go so completely off the rails.

  Because of the fucking FBI.

  Because of that FBI Agent, Mathias Costa.

  He should kill him just on general principle.

  Don’t be a fool! He’s not part of the plan. You go after him, you’ll never complete your mission. It would be chaos.

  Focus!

  He considered his options. Wait until his third target returned at the end of the day, or go back to Ogdenburg.

  He’d been driving on the freeway for the last hour. The twenty minutes from Spokane to Liberty Lake back to Spokane and now heading back to Liberty Lake.

  His hands clenched the steering wheel. He found the needle on the odometer topping eighty-five—he slowed down without braking. Took a deep, cleansing breath.

  He itched to find a drunk and take out his rage, but that would be dangerous. He never swerved from his path, never. It’s why he was free. It’s why he could walk the streets nameless, faceless. It’s why he could return home and breathe. He wanted a drunk because he needed to kill... He needed to release these demons, this overwhelming craving to punish those who were weak. Pathetic. Losers.

  Like his father.

  It’s not about him! This is about your retribution. Your vengeance. And you will have it.

  Be patient.

  Every mistake his father had made was because he was rash and reckless, acting with anger instead of cold logic.

  He was not his father. He would never be his father.

  “You are my sunshine.”

  His mother’s angelic voice crooned in his head. If only she were here. If only she hadn’t left, nothing bad would have ever happened to him.

  It’s not her fault she had to go...

  His memories of his mother were small bright lights in a sea of dark, raging waters that surged through him. Beacons of what could have been, what should have been, what would have been had the world not conspired to take her.

  He breathed deeply and found himself circling back to Ogdenburg’s house.

  Be careful.

  His anger at
being thwarted by the police earlier had dissipated. He regained his focus, his calm. He had time. He had hours to complete his mission.

  He turned his lights off and drove slowly past the target’s house.

  Ogdenburg’s lights were on, and he saw the flicker of the television behind the closed blinds.

  Somehow, that made him feel better. He had a plan for this. If Ogdenburg was awake, he had his syringe ready. If he was asleep, he wouldn’t need it. He would be able to enact Plan A just like he planned.

  But he had to make sure the police were truly gone.

  He drove through the winding streets and didn’t see a police car anywhere. But Ogdenburg’s lights were still on.

  He left the neighborhood and drove through side streets and over the freeway, to his childhood home.

  He would take just one look, then go back.

  He had to see the house again. His house. He’d thought he’d be able to ignore the urge, but his second night here, he drove by.

  He thought one time would be enough. It was far from enough. He’d driven by eight times in the two months he’d been living in Spokane. He would have driven by every day, but he refrained. He had things to do, to prepare, and he couldn’t risk having someone recognize his car.

  He meandered through streets that he’d once known so well. There were more houses now, more people, but the streets were mostly the same.

  This was dangerous, he told himself. Long after midnight and police would wonder why he was driving through a neighborhood when he didn’t live here.

  I’m from out of town. I missed my exit.